


one hundred days

by nezumiprefersdanielleovershakespeare



Category: No. 6 (Anime & Manga), No. 6 - All Media Types, No. 6 - Asano Atsuko
Genre: M/M, not a particularly happy ending (or beginning or middle)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 19:25:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10997409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nezumiprefersdanielleovershakespeare/pseuds/nezumiprefersdanielleovershakespeare
Summary: A groundhog day scenario where Nezumi finds himself watching Shion die every day.





	one hundred days

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote and posted this fic in May, 2015.
> 
> I'm reposting some of my old fics from the many accounts I previously deleted over the past few years, so if you're familiar with my fics and want to request that I repost a certain old fave, feel free to message me at my tumblr: http://coolasamackerel.tumblr.com or comment on this post: http://coolasamackerel.tumblr.com/post/160488980276/danielles-nezushifree-fics and I'll be happy to consider reposting it! For both my new readers and my old guys, hope you enjoy the fic!! :D

The first time Shion died, it was midsentence.

            In retrospect, Nezumi isn’t surprised. The kid talks so damn much. Statistically, really, he’d choke on his own voice, lose his breath over a syllable, fall silent in the middle of a word.

            The particular word, the first time, is _potential._ He got down the first two syllables, but Nezumi uses context clues, later on, when he looks back on it, realizes the kid wasn’t saying potent, but _potential._

            Maybe there’s some irony in it, if he thinks about it, but Nezumi doesn’t.

            He doesn’t give a damn about irony.

            He gives a damn about the kid trying to say _potential._ Altogether, he’d said, _If the reports pass through inspection, this could work out, I really think it has potent—_

            He was energetic, pacing happily while Nezumi watched him from the bed. He’d just come out of the shower, hadn’t yet put on a shirt, and Nezumi was only half listening, mostly watching the way Shion’s scar dipped into his sweats.

            The boy was still tempting, after all these months since Nezumi had returned, gotten used to him, the taste of him, the feel of him, the warmth of him. He’d gotten used to him, but he was by no means satisfied, by no means tired of Shion, always wanted more, and watched the boy talk lazily.

            The boy sure could talk. Nezumi liked how his hands moved, thought the kid might not be so useless on a stage – the theater was largely to do with gestures, after all, and Shion clearly had a lot of them.

            He liked the way Shion smiled as he talked, slipping grins between his words, excited at whatever he was saying, something about some proposal to his committee – he was a hard worker, and Nezumi was always impressed with him, felt proud of him, and liked this feeling.

            He’d never before felt proud of another human being. It felt nice, to have such a swelling feeling for the idiot pacing in front of the bed, talking so quickly, so energetically, so full of life.

            But then he wasn’t. In the middle of _potential_ , he fell silent, and Nezumi didn’t so much as notice the silence as the stilling of his hands, the freeze of his lips. The silence came only secondarily to his attention, and Nezumi sat up just as Shion fell down.

            More accurate than fell – he tumbled, or folded, or crumpled. Gravity didn’t so much as push him as swallow him up, and then Nezumi was kneeling beside Shion, one hand in his hair as if he might find a heartbeat hidden within the white locks.

            The other hand fell to Shion’s lips, but no breath coated his fingertips.

            _Shion? Hey – Hey, Shion! Wake up, what the – Shion, don’t you do this, don’t you dare – don’t you fucking dare do this to me –_

            CPR before he called the ambulance. Then he remembered he should call the ambulance, and he did so with one hand still pumping Shion’s heart.

            Nezumi was breathing hard into the phone, the breath Shion didn’t have seeming to fill his own lungs, make him gasp. The ambulance director had to speak first, ask Nezumi what was wrong, and Nezumi just repeated his address, over and over, their address, he had an address, he had a home, he shared this home, planned to keep sharing this home, might have said all this into the phone but he couldn’t really keep track of what he was saying.

            At some point, the phone fell from his hand because Nezumi had to pick it up again to call Shion’s mother.

            He switched hands for this phone call, still pumping Shion’s heart, still feeling its silence pressed against his palm because the boy wasn’t wearing a shirt, just bare skin against bare skin, how many times had Nezumi touched this bare skin in the months since his return – but never like this, never like this.

            _Karan – Karan –_

            He doesn’t think he said anything else to her. He dropped the phone, dropped his lips back to Shion’s, exhaled Shion’s breath back into his lungs because Nezumi didn’t want it in his own lungs, it didn’t belong there.

            _Take it, take it back, goddammit, Shion, Shion_ , Nezumi whispered, between breaths, onto Shion’s lips.

            His lips had touched Shion’s before – but never like this, never like this.

            The ambulance probably gave Nezumi an explanation for how Shion died, but Nezumi wasn’t listening.

            He didn’t want to listen to them, their clinical talk, their quiet demeanor. They hardly moved their arms. They did not smile between their words.

            Nezumi only wanted to hear Shion finish his sentence.

            Finish his goddamn word.

            _Just one more syllable, Shion, give me one more syllable you selfish piece of –_

            But Shion wasn’t selfish, and Nezumi could not yell at this corpse, not another one, not another one.

            He didn’t cry until the house was empty. Then he sat on the bed, the very edge, pressed his palms against his eyes, pretended they did not dampen, pretended they did not burn.

*

The second time Shion died, Nezumi was still recovering from the first.

            He was pretty sure it was a nightmare, but he was used to those.

            Not like this though, never like this.

            Nezumi was more scared of his reaction to the nightmare than the nightmare itself. He didn’t want to let go of Shion, that morning. Woke grasping onto him, shouting, and Shion shook him awake, was whispering in his ear.

            _It’s okay, wake up now, it’s okay, just wake up, Nezumi, it’s okay, it’s all okay._

            Nezumi woke up. Fingers tight around Shion’s t-shirt. Face wet. Didn’t believe it at first because he had nightmares, but not of this boy’s death, not of something so real.

            _Shion, Shion – Goddammit, Shion –_

            T-shirt wasn’t enough. Nezumi dug his fingers into Shion’s skin, but the man didn’t even wince, instead swept his own fingers so gently over Nezumi’s face.

            _Hey, shh, Nezumi, you’re awake now, it’s over._

            Nezumi decided not to tell Shion it was a different nightmare than the usual. Instead, he dug his fingernails in harder. Felt the flesh of his companion swell around his fingertips, like a sea breaking for him to enter. He dug deeper, waited for it to break, but it did not.

            He didn’t want to get out of bed that morning, but he didn’t want Shion to know that this nightmare was so much worse than the usual, so he finally let go of him, an hour or two after the nightmare had faded.

            Nezumi was usually able to forget the nightmares he had of his family, but this nightmare of Shion’s death did not disappear like wisps of smoke on a windy day.

            Instead, it dried like blood and crusted on his brain like a memory, but nightmares weren’t memories, and this didn’t make sense.

            _Nezumi, are you all right?_ Shion asked, as he slid Nezumi’s coffee mug towards him.

            Nezumi cupped his hands around the mug. His skin burned. He was not all right, but he nodded as the steam caressed his cheeks.

            He felt hollowed out by a spoon, his insides empty and just his heart left to echo in a lonely chest, but there was no reason to feel this way, and here was Shion, alive, well, peering at him in concern, breathing and warm.

            Nezumi wanted to press his hand against Shion’s chest, slip it under the fabric of his t-shirt so there would be no interference, but he left it cupped around his mug, pretended the glass was Shion’s skin and maybe it wasn’t as soft but at least it wasn’t cold, at least it kept him warm.

            Shion didn’t die until after Nezumi had finished his coffee. Shion was in the other room, and Nezumi had been reluctant to let the boy out of his sight, but this was a crazy thought, he told himself, he was being crazy, it was just a nightmare.

            Then came the crash, and Nezumi didn’t turn at first, called out instead, _Hey, everything okay?_

            His voice rang through the house as if it were as hollow as Nezumi’s chest felt, so he turned around in his stool, slid off, feet falling heavy on the floor.

            He walked to the doorway, saw that Shion had taken the lamp from their nightstand down with him as he fell.

            He was lying on his side, arm skewed oddly, and Nezumi stood very still, wondered if this was some kind of prank, some kind of joke, the kid always had the weirdest sense of humor.

            _Shion. Stop it, get up._

            Shion did not stop it.

            Shion did not get up.

            When Nezumi called the ambulance, he waited for them to ask.

            _Isn’t this the same boy…?_ they would say.

            But they did not say it.

            Nezumi did not know how to call Karan a second time, but he did because the first was just a nightmare, a premonition, probably, and Nezumi had never believed in that shit, but now he had to, didn’t he?

            She cried on the phone. She cried when she held him.

            Nezumi had no tears left, his nightmare had left him completely dry, and he stared at this corpse, only confused, only angry.

            _You said it was over. You woke me up and said my nightmare was over, you lying son of a –_

            He waited to wake up.

*

_Nezumi!_

            The third time Shion died, they were having sex.

            _Nezumi! Nezumi, wake up!_

            Nezumi woke up.

            Shion’s face was pale and looming and sweaty above his own.

            _A nightmare, you were having a nightmare,_ Shion said, breathless, and Nezumi squinted at him.

            Wasn’t this boy dead?

            Hadn’t they had this conversation before?

            _Shion,_ Nezumi breathed. He reached up, touched Shion’s face, the sweat on it, the warmth of it.

            Shion all but fell on top of Nezumi, his weight familiar and welcome and alive, and Nezumi couldn’t help it, wrapped his arms around him, just gently at first, but then he was squeezing.

            _I’ve been trying to wake you for ages… Nezumi, it’s okay. You never shouted like that before, I was just – I was scared… But it’s okay now, right?_

            Nezumi didn’t want to answer him. To listen to him. It was dangerous for this boy to speak. He mustn’t ever talk again, he mustn’t ever walk again, he must only lie there, heart beating against Nezumi’s, and Nezumi’s heart would remind Shion’s every time it got tired that it had a job to do, there was no sudden stopping, no more of that nonsense, no more of that foolishness would be permitted.

            _Don’t die again,_ Nezumi whispered, lips so deep in Shion’s hair there was no possible way for the boy to have heard him.

            _What?_

            Nezumi didn’t repeat himself. Just squeezed more tightly. He would not be getting out of bed today, and neither would Shion. Shion tried, but Nezumi kept his grip on the kid’s arm, stared him down every time the boy tried to plead with him.

            _Nezumi –_ but he didn’t finish his sentence.

            Not because he died. Nezumi guessed Shion could read something in his face, maybe desperation, maybe sorrow, maybe sadness, maybe exhaustion.

            Whatever it was, it kept Shion beside him well into the afternoon until he started to get bored, antsy, so Nezumi had to distract him, and kissed him.

            Shion kissed back. Nezumi could feel his pulse in his lips, and he loved this, pressed his mouth harder against Shion’s.

            He started crying, while they kissed, but he ignored this even though Shion broke away.

            _Nezumi?_

            Nezumi kissed him until he silenced. Tore at his t-shirt. Pulled at his sweats. Shed his own clothing without pause. His movements were quick but gentle. He did not want to fuck the kid. He did not want to hurt him in any way. No risk at all.

            They made love, and Nezumi pretended Shion was still a virgin, that he himself was as well, that they had to be careful, that they were both shiny and new and scared.

            And Nezumi was scared. He was so completely terrified. He hardly let his fingertips graze over Shion’s skin, and maybe Shion noticed this, but he did not say anything, just matched his own movements to Nezumi’s, slowed himself down and touched Nezumi gently as well, both moving too gingerly as if the other was made of glass.

            It wasn’t enough.

            Shion came first, but Nezumi was still tense, was taking longer, and this was okay, they didn’t always climax in-synch with each other, sometimes they made it a race to see who could hold out the longest, who could get the other to finish first.

            It wasn’t a race, this time. Nezumi was just nervous. Kept picturing a corpse.

            But then Shion was a corpse. One moment tightening around Nezumi, hand rising up Nezumi’s chest, the other a fist in his hair – the next moment, he was all loose limbed, liquefied, body slackening around Nezumi’s, falling limp under Nezumi, and Nezumi stopped, pulled out, was already breathing hard, was already gasping, so the next moments came naturally, his pulse had nowhere to rise and so it stayed as it was, at its peak, as he pressed a hand against Shion’s sweaty chest.

            He knew what a dead man looked like, by then.

            A dead man looked like the boy he loved.

            _Don’t._

            _Just don’t._

_Stop this, stop this now, goddammit, Shion, you have got to be kidding me, this stops now – This stops today! Stop it!_

            He couldn’t call the ambulance.

            He couldn’t call Karan.

            He got off of the body and paced the house, not bothering to put on clothes, slamming his fist into walls, pulling the books off the shelf, weaving his hands through his hair and pulling hard, harder than Shion ever pulled in the middle of sex, hard enough that his eyes watered, but he did not cry.

            He cursed the walls.

            He screamed.

            He shouted.

            He yelled.

            Tried to knock the lamp off the nightstand, but it wasn’t there, and Nezumi froze in front of the nightstand for a minute, stared at it, waited for the lamp to appear.

            There was a corpse on the bed beside the nightstand, but Nezumi wasn’t distracted by the dead body of the man he loved. He was distracted by the empty nightstand. He didn’t understand why it was empty.

            But the second time Shion had died, he had taken the lamp with him. It had crashed to the floor. Nezumi did not remember cleaning the broken lamp, but he remembered Karan doing it, at some point, probably throwing it in the trash.

            Nezumi forced himself to walk to the trash. He placed his bare foot on the lever, touched it gently, and the top slowly rose to reveal the shards of the broken lamp.

            _No._

            _No! This isn’t real! It’s not real, it’s not fucking – Shion!_

            _Shion, wake up!_

_Wake the fuck up, I’m not doing this again!_

_You’re not fucking doing this to me again, you fucking –_      

            He crumpled in the doorway of the kitchen where he could see the bed, see Shion’s arm hanging off of it.

            Nezumi was naked and he cried in a pile of his own limbs. His chest hurt. Soon, his body hurt from the position he was in, the length of time he stayed it in, and then he was shivering, the sweat from the sex and the fear having cooled, the tile of the kitchen frigid against his skin.

            Nezumi stood, got dressed, left the naked corpse on the bed and went to Karan’s.

            It was late, but he let himself in anyway. Knocked on her bedroom door until she answered, in a bathrobe and slippers.

            _Nezumi? Is everything all right?_

            Didn’t she know? Didn’t she remember her own fucking son dying two days in a row?

            _Did you put a broken lamp in my garbage?_

            _Nezumi, come in. Is it Shion? Is he all right? Come, come inside, you’re shivering, your face is pale, come have something to eat, then talk._

            Nezumi tried not to shout. _The lamp, Karan. Did you –_ His hands were in fists and he forced them to fall open, refused to be beckoned into the woman’s house because her son was dead and she didn’t even know, her son kept dying and she wanted Nezumi to come into her house and eat.

            Her eyes were wide as she shook her head. _I don’t know anything about a lamp,_ she said, finally, and Nezumi nearly crumpled again, right there, but he managed to turn away, though she kept calling him back, over and over.

            _Nezumi? Nezumi, darling – Nezumi!_

            Back at home, Shion was still dead.

            Nezumi closed the front door behind him, stared at Shion. Walked closer, tipped his lips against Shion’s ear.

            _What are you doing to me?_ he hissed.

            Shion didn’t reply.

            Of course he didn’t.

            He was fucking dead.

*

The fourth time Shion died, Nezumi warned him.

            There was the usual routine – how quickly it had become routine – of Shion waking him from his “nightmare.”

            Nezumi was beginning to understand that it wasn’t a nightmare, but he didn’t tell Shion that.

            Instead, he said, after Shion had calmed him somewhat, _Listen._

            _What is it? Nezumi? You don’t look well, I’m going to get you a glass of water._

_No, listen to me!_

Shion’s grip loosened around Nezumi’s shoulder. They were both sitting up. Shion nodded.

            _Okay, I’m listening._

_You’re going to die today._

            Shion didn’t say anything.

            _Shion, did you hear me? I said, you’re going to die today._

_I heard you._

_I’m not lying._

Another pause. _I don’t understand._

            Nezumi nodded. He didn’t understand either. He wasn’t sure he wanted to.

            He just needed it to stop.

            _You’ve died the last three days._

_Nezumi –_

_Don’t. Just – Don’t. Don’t fucking condescend or patronize or belittle –_

_I’m not –_

_I said, don’t!_ Nezumi shouted, and Shion breathed.

            Nezumi watched him breathe. The rise and fall of his chest. His shoulders moved too, a little, rising up and falling back down.

            Nezumi didn’t ever want to look away, but instead he felt himself closing his eyes.

            He was so tired. So tired of watching this boy leave him.

            _It was a bad nightmare._

_Don’t say that._

_I don’t know what else to say._

_Say you believe me,_ Nezumi said, opening his eyes, staring at Shion, needing him to understand.

            Shion squinted at him. _I just – Nezumi –_ Shion didn’t finish his sentence.

            Nezumi thought. _What day is it?_ he asked, realizing, and Shion’s eyebrows furrowed.

              _Thursday._

            _So yesterday was Wednesday?_ Nezumi asked, nodding. The first day Shion died had been a Monday. The days were passing, and Shion was dying in each one.

            He glanced beside him, saw that the books were off the shelves, scattered by Nezumi’s anger the day before, the death before.

            _Well, yes, I suppose._

            _Do you remember what you did yesterday? On Wednesday? Can you tell me everything that happened on Wednesday, Shion?_ Nezumi asked, leaning forward, breathing in Shion’s face – maybe he would need this breath, later, maybe he would use it to last a second longer, stay with Nezumi a moment more.

            _Nezumi, you were there, you know what I –_

            _Tell me, Shion!_

            Shion swallowed. He closed his eyes, he breathed in, and he recited a normal Wednesday.

            He did not recount waking Nezumi from a nightmare. He did not recount spending most of the day in bed. He did not recount the sex, his death, no – he recounted getting up early, making breakfast, kissing Nezumi on the way out, stopping by the market, heading to a committee meeting, visiting his mother for lunch, getting home early enough to see Nezumi before his evening rehearsal…

            It went on. All nonsense. All lies.

            _That’s what you remember?_ Nezumi asked, when Shion was done.

            _That’s what happened, Nezumi,_ Shion said, words slow, careful, deliberate.

            He was worried for Nezumi, apparently.       

            Nezumi was worried too, but not for himself. He had no more worry for himself.

            _That’s not what happened._

_Then what happened?_

_You died._

_Nezumi –_

            _Dammit, Shion!_ Nezumi got up, pulled Shion up by the arm, dragged him to the bookshelf, described the way he’d thrown the books from the shelf, asked Shion if he remembered what happened to the lamp, and Shion shook his head.

            _Nothing happened to the lamp._

 _Then where is it?_ Nezumi demanded, and Shion stared at the empty nightstand.

            _I don’t know, Nezumi,_ he whispered, and his worry was blatant now, showed in the way he cupped Nezumi’s cheek with his palm, but Nezumi had no time for this, pulled Shion to the trashcan, didn’t open it at first, instead explained the second time Shion had died, how he’d taken the lamp with him.

            _Your mother cleaned it up. Threw it in our trash._ He slammed his foot on the trashcan lever, and both he and Shion peered down at the shards of the lamp.

            He let go of the lever, and it closed slowly. He looked up at Shion, who was staring at him.

            _Nezumi –_

_I watched you die three times. Shion, I watched you die three times._

            Shion pulled Nezumi this time, to the stool at the counter, sat him down, put his hands on his arms.

            _I’m sorry,_ he said, but Nezumi didn’t know if this meant Shion believed him.

            _I’m not going to watch a fourth time._

            _Okay. I won’t die._

_You can’t just say that._

_I’m not just saying that._

_Do you believe me, Shion?_

            Shion didn’t say anything.

            He couldn’t, as he had died.

            Fingers loosening from Nezumi’s arms, collapsing against him, falling sideways because Nezumi was too slow to react, to catch him before he slid off Nezumi’s lap, thumped on the kitchen tile like a bag of flour.

            Nezumi felt his exhale as if it had been torn from his chest and presented in front of his lips.

            He could not inhale.

            He curled inward, empty lungs suctioning his body like a vacuum, and maybe this isn’t how physics worked, how anatomy worked, but what would Nezumi know, he wasn’t the freaking nerd, he wasn’t the genius, the dork that spent all his time studying.

            Shion would know what was wrong with him.

            Should would have been able to save himself.

            Could have stopped this pain.

            Nezumi let his body contort into the smallest ball on the stool. He weaved his hands into his hair. He focused on breathing because someone had to stay alive, but it was hard, so he did it slowly, small breaths at first, turning dizzy with his efforts and he almost fell, slipped off the stool, blacked out, but he grabbed the counter, uncurling from his ball to steady himself.

            Resumed his attempts to breathe.

            His head hurt.

            When he could breathe, he slid off the chair. Crouched beside Shion. Picked him up, carried him, but didn’t know where he was carrying him to, so he walked around the house with Shion bobbing lifelessly in his arms.

            He kept walking. Considered hospitals, but what could they do? Maybe monitor Shion overnight, but the first time Shion died, he was taken away, and same with the second time, yet he’d reappeared in bed the next morning.

            The body Nezumi held, he realized, might not even be his Shion.

            Nezumi almost dropped him. Then tightened his grip. Stopped walking and tried to breathe again, slow breaths at first, leaning against the wall of the bathroom – where he’d stopped walking – so that his small breaths wouldn’t make him dizzy.

            He pulled Shion’s body closer to his. It was getting complicated, and Nezumi didn’t want complicated.

            He wanted his life back. His simple life. But Shion kept taking it, each time he died, he kept taking Nezumi’s life, and Nezumi didn’t know why, didn’t know how.

            He slid down the wall of the bathroom, not letting go of Shion. Pressed his nose in Shion’s hair, and it smelled of coconut shampoo even though he hadn’t showered in days.

            Nezumi hadn’t showered either, rose his hair to his nose, smelled it, and it didn’t smell of shampoo.

            He realized he was dizzy in part because it had been days since he’d eaten as well. He tilted his head against the bathroom wall but willed himself to stay awake.

            As long as he didn’t sleep, Shion could not die again.

            Sure, he would remain lifeless, but maybe midnight changed such things, what did Nezumi know?

            So he waited.

            By half past seven the next morning, Shion still wasn’t alive. Nezumi still sat with him in his lap against the bathroom wall.

            He passed out, lips pressed to Shion’s hair.

*

The fifth time Shion died, he was cooking.

            He was cooking because Nezumi looked as though he hadn’t eaten in days.

            That is because he really hadn’t, but neither had Shion, yet the boy looked normal, and Nezumi was willing to bet his hair still smelled of shampoo, strong as if he’d just showered, while Nezumi’s hung limply and greasily in his face.

            Shion stared at him with concern after he was woken from his “nightmare.”

            They both woke in bed, though Nezumi distinctly remembered falling asleep in the bathroom.

            _Did you carry me here?_ Nezumi asked, and Shion only stared at him in dismay.

            _Nezumi, why do you look so thin?_ he demanded, instead of answering Nezumi’s question.

            _Shion, was I in the bathroom? Did you carry me from the bathroom?_

_What are you talking about? We both went to bed together, don’t you remember? Are you okay? Nezumi, you don’t look – Are you okay?_

            _What day is it, Shion?_

_It’s Friday, Nezumi. It’s Friday. I’m going to get you water and make you something to eat. You don’t look okay._

            He didn’t feel okay. He felt unhinged. Shion clearly didn’t remember their talk the day before.

            Nezumi rubbed his hand over his face, felt the stubble, noted that Shion had no stubble even though he hadn’t shaved for as long as Nezumi hadn’t.

            Nezumi considered that he was going crazy. It made sense. It was the only explanation, at that point.

            He got off the bed, nearly fell, as the lack of food was hitting him, and stumbled to the kitchen, where he pulled himself onto a stool.

            Shion looked up from the stove, a crease between his eyebrows. _Nezumi?_

            _I think I’m going crazy,_ Nezumi admitted, a whisper.

            Shion watched him for several seconds. _Why?_ he asked, softly, coming around to stand next to Nezumi, to reach out and tuck strands of his greasy hair behind his ear.

            Nezumi couldn’t explain it again. He shook his head.

            _I don’t know,_ he gasped.

            Shion swallowed, leaned forward, kissed Nezumi’s forehead.

            _I’ll take care of you,_ he promised, and Nezumi didn’t believe him, but he was alive, for right now, that moment, he was alive, and Nezumi loved him for that.

            He nodded. _Okay_ , he breathed.

            Shion resumed cooking.

            They ate breakfast together.

            Nezumi accidentally threw up, and Shion held his hair up, then insisted they shower together.

            He washed Nezumi’s skin with a soft cloth, and Nezumi closed his eyes, tipped his head back to the shower spray.

            When Shion kissed him under the water, Nezumi didn’t have the strength to kiss back, but that was better, because Shion had died during sex, and Nezumi was still scared of it.

            Instead of sex, Shion shampooed Nezumi’s hair. His fingers massaged his scalp. Nezumi moaned with pleasure.

            _I’m worried about you,_ Shion admitted, while he watched Nezumi shave, sitting on the closed lid of the toilet and peering up at Nezumi, who focused on the mirror.

            Nezumi said nothing. Ran his razor in the sink.

            When he was done, Shion brushed out his hair, and Nezumi let him braid it.

            _I’m going to cook you dinner,_ Shion whispered, softly into Nezumi’s ear after braiding his hair. _Just something small, something simple. I want you to have something in your stomach. Please try not to throw it up. Maybe we’ll go to a doctor tomorrow, I just don’t understand how you could get so skinny so quickly,_ he said.

            Nezumi reached back, felt the bumps of his braid. There was nothing quick, about the last four days.

            He sat on the stool again, while Shion cooked him dinner. The day was almost over, and the boy was still alive, but Nezumi had no hope.

            He watched the clock with dread, sneaking peeks at it between the concerned glances Shion threw at him.

            At 10:36, Shion noted that the sauce needed salt before collapsing.

            Nezumi remembered to turn off the stove before checking for the boy’s pulse.

*

The sixth time Shion died, Nezumi did not notice.

            That is because he passed out several minutes before.

            He woke that morning with his hair still in a braid, though several strands had leaked out during the night.

            Shion had a hand on his shoulder, was shaking him awake.

            _It’s just a nightmare,_ Shion said, voice soft and comforting.

            Nezumi wanted to punch him.

            He had strength now, as he had forced himself to eat the night before after Shion died, in small portions every half hour so that he would be less likely to throw up.

            Shion was right, the sauce needed salt, but Nezumi did not add any, wanted to eat only what Shion had cooked for him, just the way he had cooked it.

            _Shion,_ Nezumi said.

            _Shh, it’s okay,_ Shion replied.

            Nezumi closed his eyes again, let Shion stroke his hair that was still in a braid from when Shion braided it – but Shion wouldn’t remember because the Shion that had braided it was dead.

            Nezumi couldn’t think.

            He wanted to vomit, almost did, swallowed down the bile in his throat, sat up in bed and looked at Shion.

            He was so so so angry.

            _It’s okay, Nezumi. Do you want breakfast? Tea?_

 _Do we have Advil?_ Nezumi asked, and Shion looked at him for a long moment.

            When Nezumi had gotten sick a few months before, Shion had practically had to force-feed Nezumi pills, as Nezumi didn’t like taking them, didn’t like anything but his own body working to fix itself.

            But Shion didn’t argue. He nodded, got up from bed, kissed Nezumi’s lips just gently before heading to the kitchen.

            He returned with a cup of water and a bottle of pills. _Take two,_ he said gently, then disappeared into the bathroom, and Nezumi could hear him brushing his teeth.

            He intended to only take two, but instead kept taking more, more and more, watched the door carefully while he popped and swallowed, over and over, taking small sips of water so it would last.

            He had never thought of killing himself. It wasn’t what he was doing now. He was just trying to kill the part of his brain that was doing this to him, that was driving him crazy.

            He passed out before Shion got out of the bathroom.

            Shion died sometime after he called the ambulance. Nezumi mused, as he sat in his bed in the hospital room, sore from just having his stomach pumped, that Shion was the one who was scared today.

            Frightened out of his mind.

            Dialing the phone without know what he was doing.

            Hand pressed against Nezumi’s chest while the rest of his body went numb.

            There was no satisfaction in these realizations, mostly because as he thought them, Karan entered the room, informed him through tears that Shion had died just after Nezumi was admitted.

            The beeps of Nezumi’s heart monitor did not quicken. They did not slow.

            He closed his eyes and leaned back against his pillows and ground his teeth together so he would not yell at the doctors in his room, so that he would not shout at them for saving him instead of this boy, how could they, how could they, _how could they?_

*

The seventh time Shion died, Nezumi tried to kill him.

            He woke with his throat and stomach sore, and he knew it was from having the pills pumped out of him, but Shion thought his hoarse voice was from crying during the night, was extra careful, was extra kind, soft syllables that fell against Nezumi’s ears like rain.

            _I’m here, Nezumi, I’m here. It’s over. All over. Just a nightmare, I’m so sorry, Nezumi, it’s okay, I promise you, I swear._

            Nezumi hated him so goddamn much.

            The nerve of this asshole, this liar, _this absolute –_

            Nezumi kissed him. Hard. Shion pushed back at first, said, _Wait, maybe we should talk, do you want to talk?_

            But Nezumi did not want to talk, and Shion understood this, finally kissed Nezumi back, and then their clothes were off, and this time, Nezumi was not scared to fuck him, he wanted to, to hurt the boy, to break him, to slam him so hard against the headboard that his skull cracked and it was over – Nezumi just wanted it to be over, he felt out of control, but if he could do it, he could be in control, he could finally feel sane again, even if it was his fault.

            It was going to happen anyway. He was murdering a man with a death sentence.

            Shion moaned. Loudly. Gasped. Fingers hard in Nezumi’s skin, and then they were slack, but he wasn’t dead, he was just timid, breathing hard, and Nezumi saw this, saw his pleasure overridden by pain, saw his heavy eyelids widening with fear, but Nezumi kept pushing, didn’t care, wanted to hurt this bastard that kept hurting him.

            Only when Shion’s eyes shined, a drop of water catching in his eyelashes before it could fall down his cheek, did Nezumi freeze, did he get up, did he step off the bed and stumble over his own feet and nearly fall backward but catch himself.

            Shion pressed a hand to his lips. He sat up, he watched Nezumi, he rubbed his eyes with the hand that wasn’t over his lips, and then he released his lips.

            _It’s okay. It’s okay. Nezumi – It’s okay._

            It wasn’t okay. Nothing was okay.

            Nezumi wished Shion was dead because it would be better than this pity, the fact that Nezumi had hurt him and Shion still had the gall to feel pity, to look at him like that, to reach out to him.

            _I’m_ – Sorry. The word Nezumi was looking for was sorry. But he couldn’t find it.

            _Nezumi_ , Shion said, voice breaking. _I’m okay. I am. It’s okay. We’re okay._

            He needed to stop saying okay. Nezumi was looking for a word, and it wasn’t okay, it was the opposite of okay, but he wouldn’t find it with Shion rambling like this, lying like this.

            _You didn’t mean to. I know that. I’m fine. Please, Nezumi, come here. Please come back,_ Shion said, and he leaned forward, then winced, the pain crinkling his features.

            Nezumi turned around. Slammed his fist against the wall. Wished he could punch a hole in it, but his knuckles already hurt, and he was too much of a coward to punch it again, so he turned around, looked on the ground for his boxers, couldn’t find them so he just pulled on his sweats without them before stalking into the kitchen.

            He stood with his hands against the sink. Dug his fingernails into the granite. It hurt. He wanted them to recede into his skin. To disappear. Be swallowed up by the rest of his flesh.

            _Nezumi._

            Nezumi exhaled hard. He turned. Shion stood against the doorway, a sheet wrapped around his body.

            There was a trail of blood trickling down from the portion of his shin and his ankle that was visible beneath the sheet.

            Nezumi stared at it.

            _It’s okay_ , Shion said.

            _Stop saying that,_ Nezumi managed.

            _But it is._

_It’s not._

_Yes, it –_

            _It’s not!_

            Shion finally shut up.

            Nezumi doesn’t know when he died, that day. He refused to be in the same room as Shion. Refused to be in the same house.

            He left, sidestepped the sheet-clad Shion, freed his wrist when Shion latched out and grabbed it, stuffed his feet into his boots and pulled on a coat over his bare torso and left the house and did not come back until one in the morning.

            Shion lay dead on the couch. He was still wrapped in just the sheet.

            Nezumi leaned forward, touched his ankle, felt that the thin trail of blood had dried against his skin.

            On a post-it, he had written, _If you won’t talk to me, will you dance with me?_

            Nezumi wished he had come home earlier.

            He wished they had had one last dance.

*

Nezumi remembers every single way Shion dies.

            He wishes he didn’t.

            He wishes he could forget.

            The hundredth day Shion will die is today.

            Nezumi wakes knowing he won’t stay.

            Shion is waking him, as is their new routine.

            “Nezumi. Nezumi, it’s okay, Nezumi, wake up, Nezumi, it was just a nightmare, you’re going to be okay, it’s all going to be okay.”

            Nezumi opens his eyes.

            Shion stares at him.

            “Nezumi,” he breathes.

            “Hi, Shion,” Nezumi says, and he smiles slightly because he likes this boy so much. This boy used to make him happy, and Nezumi remembers this, it’s only been one hundred days, after all, that’s not too many, Nezumi can still remember what it was like before, to wake beside him, for his wide red eyes to be the first thing he saw in the morning.

            “You look…” Shion starts, but he doesn’t finish, and he doesn’t need to.

            Nezumi knows what he looks like. Gaunt, cheekbones too sharp under sallow skin, darkened circles under eyes that are bloodshot.

            Shion has started making note of Nezumi’s appearance every morning because of course he forgets why Nezumi has become this way. He forgets not what a dangerous cocktail of fear and grief can do to a person, not how one hundred days of this cocktail can destroy a man, but that Nezumi has even been suffering for one hundred days.

            Shion knows nothing, and at least there is this, at least Nezumi can be grateful for this one thing – that he is the only one who has to carry these burdens of Shion’s death.

            But after a while, a burden becomes too much. One hundred days is a while, Nezumi thinks.

            He sits up, used to this part of the routine and wanting to be over it. “I’m fine. Just had a rough night,” he assures Shion, who does not look assured.

            Instead, his fingertips lift, flit over Nezumi’s cheeks, the hollows in them.

            Nezumi is glad, at the very least, that he forced himself to shower the day before after Shion died. Forced himself to eat three apples.

            He only threw up two. This is a success, in the new routine.

            There was a break in the routine, somewhere between days twenty and fifty. Where Nezumi tried to stop it. Get help. Told people. Took Shion to hospitals, but both the staff and Shion were confused.

            Maybe it was how unhinged Nezumi must have appeared that allowed all parties to conduct tests, but no one knew what to test for, and it hardly mattered – the next morning, Nezumi would be back in his own bed beside Shion, Shion waking him up, assuring him it would all be okay, it was just a nightmare.

            So Nezumi gave up. Spent the moments Shion was alive instead being with the boy. Trying to pretend there was no new routine because the old routine was so much better, so he lived this old routine of companionship and contentment and comfort until Shion died, and only then did Nezumi resume the new routine of loss and emptiness and fear and anger.

            There was a lot of anger. Many things were broken, in the one hundred days.

            Shion noticed, observed, but he stopped pointing things out in the recent days. Maybe because he only had time to point out how Nezumi was breaking, only had time to worry about the man before him who seemed to be deteriorating.

             “Nezumi, you really don’t look well,” Shion says, and Nezumi smiles for him.

            “I am. I am okay now,” Nezumi lies.

            Lying is easy now. He does it often.

            “Come, I’ll make you breakfast. Are you hungry?” Nezumi asks, getting out of bed, pulling Shion up by the hand, not letting go as he leads Shion to the kitchen.

            He likes to touch Shion. To feel his skin. To remind himself that it isn’t all that bad, there are still these moments when this man is alive.

            They eat and talk, Nezumi only small bites. He can’t keep down much anymore, but knows he must eat something, or Shion will try to force him to eat a large amount, and he’ll throw up, and those days are never fun.

            He hates when Shion worries. Shion deserves a good last day, even if every day is his last day.

            Today, Shion dies brushing his teeth. It’s an early day – they hardly had an hour.

            It’s not that the days have been getting shorter. Even that might be a relief, something Nezumi could plan for, but instead, Shion’s deaths are a surprise every day, never anything he can prepare for, and therefore he is never prepared.

            He is sitting on the closed lid of the toilet when Shion dies. He doesn’t like to let Shion out of his sight, so he is there to watch the man’s hand freeze from its back and forth motion, fingers loosening around the toothbrush so that it stays between his lips when he falls.

            Nezumi is quick enough, jumps up, catches him before he can crack his head on the tub.

            He shifts the man in his arms, carries him to the bed, sets him down carefully, extracts the toothbrush from his lips, and writes the note he had been planning since he woke up.

            _Your Majesty,_

_Had to head out early to take care of something. Will be back late tonight. Don’t eat out all the food, I’ll be starving when I get back._

_-N_

            He leaves the note on the nightstand where the lamp used to be around one hundred days ago, for Shion to see every day when he wakes up.

            He’ll be dead before he can notice Nezumi is not coming back, so Nezumi does not worry, packs a few of his clothes that he doesn’t think Shion will notice, and leans over the corpse’s head to kiss his lips before he leaves.

            He does not know if the morning will bring him back to this bed, being woken from a nightmare by this boy. Maybe it will. Maybe he can’t escape this curse anymore than Shion can.

            But maybe he’s not even trying to. Shion’s worry for him only increases as the days go by, as it becomes more and more clear that Nezumi is being carved out alive, and Nezumi does not want him to spend his last moments in worry, no matter how many last moments he has.

            He shuts the door quietly behind him as if the corpse is not a corpse at all but just Shion fast asleep, waiting to be woken from this nightmare.

 

THE END


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